


Sicko

by kribban



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 19:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16144343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kribban/pseuds/kribban
Summary: Now fully human, Jack navigates the realities of both past and present.





	Sicko

Castiel heals him and Jack's got to get used to this, to getting injured and not being able to mend himself. He expresses his deepest gratitude, then the two of them join their family in the search for Dean and Michael.

It's going to be difficult. There's not a single drop of grace left in the dead body in the war room and they have no other means of finding an archangel that doesn't want to be found. 

Sam explicitly forbids him to pray. 

To all of them, he says they'll find a way to save Dean soon, but it will have to be in the morning, as their minds will be sharper after a full night's sleep. 

Jack's never slept a full night in his life, but there's not a drop of grace left in him either and his body will undoubtedly need more from him in the future than he's given it in the past. 

He spends the night in complete darkness and dreams of Lucifer. It's not a nightmare, just a confusing story about their eccentric next door neighbor and his garden decorations. Dean's not happy about the ceramic toads that keep appearing on his lawn and Jack's just about to see the confrontation when he wakes up. 

 

Everyone's already gathered in the kitchen and Jack can feel a tightening in his stomach, a downwards pull that makes him anticipate and want. 

He drinks a cup of coffee, _black,_ like Dean takes it, and scrunches up his face in a grimace. 

”You've never had coffee before,” Sam notes, and Jack tells him he's going to be using caffeine from now on. A shot of milk makes the coffee taste better and he can soon feel the energizing effect on his body. 

 

A strategy is agreed upon – wait for news of a sighting and drive to the location of the sighting. How you're supposed to catch an angel who can move anywhere in the world with the flap of his wings, Jack doesn't know. 

But he does know it's the only plan they have, and that Mary and Sam will suffer if they don't feel like they're doing enough to save Dean. Jack tells them it's a good strategy. 

 

Sam brings him down to the shooting range and teaches him how to load a gun, how to handle it safely, and how to aim and shoot. 

Jack hates the noise and the smell, and the recoil that hurts his shoulder. They don't have angel blade bullets and he's about to point out the futility of the exercise when he realizes it's not about killing Michael. 

Without his powers, Jack is an easy target for any regular monster that might be looking to make a meal out of him, and more importantly, he's a useless hunter. Right now, he's a useless hunter with a gun.

”You'll get there,” Sam says and claps him on the shoulder.

 

Sam's friend Jody calls in with five different sightings of Michael in three different parts of the Midwest and they do a coin toss on where to go.

Castiel drives out to meet up with Arthur Ketch, and Mary says she makes a better team with Bobby than she ever has with any of her sons. Sam shows no resentment about this and gives Jack a list of things to prepare and pack for the two of them. 

 

It's a two-day drive and Jack can hardly get any research done on the road. He's never had difficulty reading in the car before but waves of discomfort roll through him whenever he tries.

”Don't worry,” Sam tells him. ”A large section of the population has motion sickness. It's nothing dangerous. There are over-the-counter medications we can try, but a common side effect is that they make you sleepy.”

Jack is constantly sleepy. Every morning it's a little bit harder getting out of bed. When the alarm rings he wants to shut it off and go back to sleep even though he has tasks to complete. 

”It's okay.” He'll just stop reading in the car. 

 

When they arrive at their assigned destination, it's been three days since Michael burned out the eyes of a young woman. She will never fully recover but the shock has worn off enough for her to agree to talk to the FBI. 

The woman smells like old blood and antiseptic solution, and she looks a bit like a mummy with her head wrapped like this.

Sam tells her the truth, parts of it, that what she encountered was a dangerous cosmic entity and that anything she heard or saw might be information he can use. He's going to hunt down the entity and make sure it can never hurt anyone again. 

Piece by piece, her story comes out in broken English, and the bodies burned to a crisp in the ME's office are all deserving of their fates when she's finished. 

”I don't know what to do,” she cries out, but she'll never cry again.

Out in the corridor, Sam explains trafficking. 

”Michael either searched for the brothel or was drawn to it somehow. We know that he's big on punishing sinners so he probably had a field day with the rapists. The girl was collateral damage, most likely, although Michael's Old Testament, so you never know.”

Thanks to Michael, the girl is safe and free from her oppressors. Because of Michael, she will never see again. 

Jack finds it troubling that something can be good and bad at the same time.

”If I still had my powers,” he reassures Sam, ”I would have made sure she didn't get hurt at all.”

Sam's eyes widen and his smile is a little strained, but it's there. 

 

”Lucifer raped my mom, didn't he?” 

Jack's been waiting for his turn in the shower and the mattress is lumpy and hard. If it's this uncomfortable to sit on, it will probably be worse sleeping on, and he's missing his own room so much it's making his stomach hurt. 

Sam ties the towel around his waist and sits down on the bed next to him. 

”Yes, you're right. He did rape her.” His tone is casual and he runs a hand through his wet hair. ”Do you want to talk about it?” 

A few drops of water land on the carpet and Jack doesn't understand why he hadn't put two and two together until now. The way Lucifer had been talking about her, the sinister tone in his voice as he made his crude remarks... 

”Did Lucifer rape you?”

Sam nods, doesn't miss a beat. ”A long time ago, now.”

 

There's a lot of sin in the world and a lot of places Michael could go to purge it. But like Mary and Bobby, like Ketch and Castiel, Sam and Jack always arrive too late. 

Eventually, Sam declares they should start looking for other jobs. To make the trip worthwhile, he says. He handles the killing himself, but Jack helps out with almost everything else. He's getting better at field research and Sam is pleased with his progress, but mostly he seems happy about killing monsters again. 

Getting wins, as Dean would call it. 

Jack wonders what Dean is feeling right now.

 

They're headed back to the bunker to stock up on ammo and other supplies when Jack spots the sign advertising homemade burgers. The sign leads them to a trailer parked by the side of the road and Sam wrinkles his nose. 

A boy who seems to be of the age that Jack looks like appears in the window. ”Yeah?”

Jack studies the taped-up menu and thinks about what Dean would order if he were here. 

”Double bacon cheeseburger with fries, please,” Jack says and the boy turns his pimpled face towards Sam. 

”Just a Coke, thank you,” Sam says with a grimace, as the boy rolls his eyes and starts scraping grease down onto a cooking plate. There's an empty glass jar labeled ”TIPS” on the counter.

”There's a Gas 'n' Sip an hour's drive from here,” Sam whispers into Jack's ear, but that would mean a two-hour detour and Jack can't wait that long for his own room, for his own bed.

”I'm hungry now,” he hisses and Sam throws his hands up, argument lost, and it's obvious he's been through this a hundred times with his real partner. 

The burger tastes like salt and day-old fat but it fills Jack up, makes him want for nothing. 

 

”Mom and Bobby were here two days ago.”

Sam shows him the note from the refrigerator door and takes a couple of beers out.

”There's a whole lasagna from Gabbani's in here. You think you'll want some later?” 

Jack wants a shower, and he wants to lie down in his own bed, and he wants Dean back right now. He says he's not hungry and follows Sam out into the library where the table is still covered with books on Enochian lore.

Sam's phone buzzes; he takes it out of his pocket and sinks down into one of the chairs. ”The iPad is in my duffel,” he says absently and starts typing out a message to whoever it was that had texted him. 

Jack's not in the mood to play games or watch videos. He takes a sip of his beer and his eyes fall on the nearest stack of books. The Men of Letters never had any encounters with angels, which means the only knowledge they had came from ancient texts and folklore. There had to be things they got wrong. 

”What about Lucifer's grace?”

Sam looks up and shakes his head. ”We don't have any, and even if we did, you can't use one angel's grace to track another angel. It's not a bad idea, though. Keep thinking outside of the box.”

Sam's eyes drift down to his phone and he starts typing again. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows revealing smooth, unmarked skin. Sam's body has no scars. Not because he hasn't been hurt, but because Castiel has been there to heal him, over and over again. 

Jack sets his bottle down on the table. ”I wish to call Castiel.” 

 

”Jack,” Castiel's voice is rough but not unfriendly. ”Have you had any progress locating Dean?”

”No, and I'm calling to ask you about Sam. You rescued him from Hell, didn't you?”

In his ear, Castiel sighs heavily. ”That's a long and quite unhappy story. Why are you interested in it?”

Jack's mouth is dry and he swallows nervously. The door to his bedroom is shut, and Sam's all the way down in the library, but Jack keeps his voice down anyway. Going behind Sam's back like this isn't a good thing. 

”I want to know what Lucifer did to him. When they were in Hell together.” 

”Why would you –” Castiel sighs again. ”You're nothing like Lucifer was, Jack.”

The walls of the room are pressing in but Jack stands firm. ”Do you know the details? I need to know them.” 

”For reasons I don't need to get into, I actually know a lot of the details.”

 

”Is Rowena going to help us find Dean?” Jack asks as he gives Sam his phone back.

Sam's eyes widen when he sees the message on the screen and a flush spreads across his cheeks. ”Uh, no, that's not why we're talking. She can't track a fully charged archangel, at least not yet.” 

The beer tastes strange and Jack can't get down more than another mouthful. He's going to have to pour the rest of it out. ”What do you two talk about?” 

”Just stuff.” Sam shrugs. ”She's a friend of mine, Jack. We talk about everything.” 

 

Lying in his own bed in the dark isn't as wonderful as he'd thought it would be, and that's the worst part of life; the disappointments. At least if you expect things to be bad, it's not a let down when they are. 

Sam hadn't expected the worst and he had been stripped head to toe, of clothes and skin, until there was nothing protecting him from the flames. 

Jack's heart is pounding and he tries to comfort himself by picturing his mother's face, but he keeps thinking about what Lucifer did to her. It's a long time until exhaustion takes over and drops him into a restless sleep. 

In his dream, Dean gets in one good hit before Lucifer shrinks him to the size of a mouse and beats him to death with one of the ceramic toads. The bloodlust washes over Jack, the happiness Lucifer feels at taking a life, and these emotions follows him out of the dream and into his waking state where he can't tell if they belong to him or not. 

He knows his DNA comes from his mom and from a man who used to be the President, but his soul was sparked into existence by Lucifer's grace. The very last piece of the Devil that still exists in this world is inside him, and it can't be cut out. 

Jack staggers out into the hallway and follows the wall until he gets to the showers. He's hot all over like he's been set on fire, and he has to put it out before he burns to death. His feet slip on the porcelain floor and there's movement behind him. 

”Stay away!” he sobs as a cool hand is pressed against his forehead. 

”You're sick,” Sam says, and Jack agrees. There's filth in him that can't be washed away, an evil that can't be cured or purged. 

A pressure inside him builds and builds and builds until it feels like his body is going to tear apart from the strain. Before he can understand what is happening, Jack doubles over and turns himself inside out. Bits of burger come out in a putrid slush and he thinks he's going to die like this, that his frail human heart is going to give out. Suddenly, the convulsions stop and he gulps down foul smelling air. 

”Jack, you have food poisoning. It's not contagious.” Sam's hand is a solid weight between Jack's shoulder blades. ”Take off your clothes and get under the shower. I'm gonna grab a bucket and some electrolytes.” 

”Bucket?”

Sam wrinkles his nose, but it's embarrassment, not disgust. ”Yeah, you're not done by a long shot. Sorry.”

Jack's mouth tastes disgusting and his throat is burning, but the all-consuming sickness is gone –  
for now. ”I'm not going to die?”

”What? Of course not!” Sam chuckles and it's a beautiful sound. ”But I don't think you're having burgers again for a while.” 

 

For the next few hours, Jack's life is a repeating cycle of purging, washing, and sipping. Slush comes out the other end of him as well, which is the grossest thing he's ever experienced. Sam doesn't bat an eye, just connects a hose to the faucet and tells him to clean it all up. 

When Jack finally thinks it's safe to go back to his room, he's exhausted and has scrubbed himself clean many times over. 

There's another bottle of that green stuff on his nightstand and he drinks half of it before crawling between the sheets. They've been changed and smell vaguely of the detergent Dean uses; he drifts off to a deep and satisfying sleep. 

When he wakes it's to Sam sitting at the foot of his bed. 

”You forgot to rinse out your bucket.” It's a reprimand, but his tone is light and teasing so Jack's probably in the clear. ”How do you feel?”

Jack takes a moment to check. He doesn't feel sick or unclean anymore. The downwards pull is back and it's making him want and anticipate. ”Hungry.”

”That's good news.” Sam looks relieved. ”I'm gonna make you some toast. No coffee or dairy and you should expect being weak for another day or two.” 

He rakes his fingers through his long hair and seems to brace himself for something. 

”So, uh, Castiel called and told me what you guys talked about last night. If you don't wanna talk to me about it, that's fine,” he adds softly. ”I just wanted you to know that I know.” 

His eyes are warm and kind and Jack wants to disappear under the sheets where no one can see him. 

”How can you stand to look at me? I know I'm not him, but I'm his offspring. He's half of what I am.” 

”Lucifer...” Sam rubs the back of his neck and sighs softly. ”The things he did to me, there's no getting over. I'll carry it with me, always, but Jack... When I look at you, Jack, I don't think about him. Not anymore. You're family, and that's that.”

Tears are pricking behind Jack's eyelids and he doesn't want to cry now, not when Sam so bravely isn't. 

”I'm sorry for what Lucifer did to you.” 

Sam nods and the corners of his mouth lift but he doesn't quite smile. ”I'm sorry about it, too.”

There's no way Jack can be as good for Sam as Lucifer was bad, but he can be a good thing in Sam's life. 

He can be good.


End file.
